


New Year's Eve

by reginasmills



Category: Wicked - All Media Types, Wicked - Schwartz/Holzman
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 20:10:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5599249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reginasmills/pseuds/reginasmills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We miss our loved ones most when we are not with them on New Year's Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Year's Eve

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in like 20 minutes flat so it might be a bit rough, as I wanted it to be in time for New Year's Day :)

Glinda watches the fireworks rain down in varying shades of green upon the Emerald City, before turning away from the window. She had given the mandatory celebratory speech, the same rejoicing at the death of her best friend had occurred, and _really, shouldn’t they have forgotten Elphie’s death already?_ Their continual celebrations were salt on a still rather fresh wound, but she couldn’t blame them. After all, they were under the impression that they had been liberated from a time of evil, and who was _she_ to take away their happiness? 

 

All the same, she would have told the truth years ago, but Elphie had sworn her to secrecy. Glinda never breaks her promises. _Elphie._ The name echoes in her head like a painful memory — she can’t help thinking of Elphaba. She never stops thinking of her, not in the city where every single paving stone reminds her of her best friend. _Her best friend,_ who is gone where she cannot follow, _gone forever._ She remembers the way Elphaba would say her name, with a chuckle, or an air of exasperation. _Galinda, Glinda. Glinda._ Elphaba’s voice is ringing in her head, louder and louder, and she winces. Maybe she shouldn’t have downed that last bottle of champagne at the New Year’s Eve party earlier on. 

 

The brightly coloured fireworks lighting up the sky are forming numbers now, counting down from 10, and Glinda sighs. Another New Year. _Another year alone._ She counts down anyway, _a force of habit really_ , and tries not to think of how lonely she feels in her large room. 

 

_Three._

 

_Two._

 

_Glinda. Glinda. The Elphie in her head will not shut up, just like the real Elphie. Oh Elphaba._

 

_One._

 

She feels the pressure of a hand on her wrist, turning her from the window and then with another hand cupping her cheek tenderly, the stranger kisses her, with a familiarity that brings tears to her eyes. _Elphie. Somewhere in the distance, fireworks explode. Midnight._

 

Elphaba draws back. “Happy new year,” she whispers, her fingers reaching out, gently brushing one of Glinda’s gold locks out of her face. 

“You were dead.”

 

“Long story.”

 

“I mourned you, you asshole.”

 

“Long story short — not dead.”

 

“I _hate_ you.”

 

“And I _love_ you, my sweet.”

 

“I’ve missed you,” Glinda says, finally. 

 

“But you didn’t turn around even after I called your name at least ten times,” Elphaba says dryly, “forgotten my voice, have you? Or were you just too busy enjoying the fireworks?” 

 

Glinda slaps her shoulder. “I would never forget your voice,” she says, seriously. “I could never.”

 

______

 

Glinda wakes up to the morning light filtering in between the drawn curtains. The bed is cold, and noticeably empty of anyone else but herself. She’s pretty certain the last night isn’t a dream — she doesn’t usually draw the curtains, and she certainly doesn’t go to sleep without wearing anything. 

 

She pulls a nightgown on and walks to the window, drawing the curtains open. Lying on the windowsill is a little piece of parchment.

 

_“Hold out, my sweet, hold out if you can.”_

 

Glinda smiles, and the smile reaches her eyes, for the first time in many years. 


End file.
